Little Orphan Cybunny
by Reynold J. Dalton
Summary: Wealthy businessman Alexander Mogul is worried about all the bad publicity is company is getting and needs a way to make himself look good in the public eye. When he finds a young girl freezing to death in the snow, he thinks he may have found it.
1. Just some background

Okay, this here is just a quick introduction for those of you who don't know the background, which is probably most of you.

A while ago, I wrote a story for the Neopets website while I was analyzing the website for a massive review, which is now on my DA page. They took the first story, but there were some things about it that dissatisfied me, particularly the fact that its antagonist, fat-cat businessman Alexander Mogul came off as more overtly villainous than I had wanted him to. As a result, I decided I'd write a second story that focused much more on him and showed other aspects of his character that I never was able to fit in the first story.

The second story I wrote was somehow inappropriate for the kiddies, however, and no matter how I tried to edit it, they simply refused to take it. It's sat in the My Documents folder of my computer for the last eight months taking up space, so I thought I might as well post it here.

If you wish to read what I originally wrote for Neopets, you can find it by looking me up on Neopets: al_bester is my username and the little trophy shaped like a quill pen will take you to the story.

If you don't want to, you don't have to. Very little of what happened in the original story matters in this one. I do mention the conflict that Mogul had with Neovia's resident swamp witch, Sophie, but the only thing you really need to know is that there was one.

So, without further ado, enjoy my story.


	2. Mr Smithers' Breakfast Meeting

The snow came steadily down like tiny white fairies descending from the heavens. Jonas Smithers, NeoCorp's chief financial officer, smiled to himself at that thought; it had a very poetic ring that the dark blue Bori felt would serve as a good opening line to a story. Like all such lines, it eschewed mentioning the way the biting cold of the open air tried to chew off your arms and legs in favor of sounding pretty. Mr. Smithers mused on this paradox, pulling his scarf and coat tighter as he made his way down the snow-blanketed streets of Neovia to Mr. Mogul's mansion, several newspapers from various regions around the world and a stock portfolio clasped under his arm. Being an optimist at heart, his conclusion was to feel thankful that at least the nasty wind from the night before had stopped.

The modest home of Alexander Mogul was really only modest by comparison to the vast estate he used for a vacation home on a private island off the coast Mystery Isle. Easily the largest home in Neovia, it overlooked the town from a large hill on the far east side, where it sat in its opulent, Victorian splendor, not but a few minutes walk from NeoCorp headquarters. Mr. Smithers walked up the long drive to the front door and pulled the rope. Somewhere inside, a bell rang loudly and shortly the door was answered by Mogul's Gelert butler, Albert Rogers.

"Good morning, Rogers."

"How so?" said the butler. "It's so cold the pipes froze over during the night and we've been trying to warm them up since six. Mogul gets cranky when he misses his bath, you know."

Smithers kept smiling in the face of a bad attitude as only a good financial consultant knows how. "Well, it could be worse."

"It could always be worse," Rogers replied. "Doesn't change the fact that it's pretty unpleasant right now. But don't just stand out there in it, come in. Mr. Mogul's expecting you in the dining room, as usual."

"Thank you."

The grumbling Gelert closed the door behind Smithers and went off to check on the plumbing problem again. After hanging his coat and scarf on the hat rack, Smithers made his way to the dining room, greeting the house staff as he passed them.

The dining room was quite spacious, lit by a crystal chandelier and a compliment of Moltara gas lamps. Opera music played softly from the gramophone sitting on a table by the window to aid in Mr. Mogul's digestion. The buisnessman lounged at the far side of the long table like a corpulent king, a piece of toast in one hand and the local newspaper in the other. He was wearing his white shirt and purple pants, but his green tie and pinstripe suit coat hung on the back of his chair. Behind him, a blaze roared in the great fireplace over which hung a life size portrait of the businessman, seated and smiling slightly, with Precious on his lap. From her own little cushioned throne, Mogul's Gathow glanced up from her bowl and glared at Smithers for a moment to remind him of the pecking order.

"Sit down, Mr. Smithers," said the Wocky without looking up from the paper. He sounded a little bored and possibly a little annoyed. "We will discuss the area financial reports later."

"As you wish, Sir."

Laying the newspapers and portfolio aside, Smithers took his seat on the opposite end of the table, where a plate had been set out for him. He glanced along the table, taking note of each item that had been cooked up. Honey-glazed ham, waffles dipped in strawberry sauce, a bowl of mixed fruit, bacon and eggs, bread and butter, and, of course, several small plates of candies; Mogul's sweet-tooth was quite possibly the only thing that could rival his wealth for breadth and scale.

"Have something to eat, if you wish," said Mr. Mogul, still not looking up from the paper.

Smithers helped himself to a small helping of eggs and some fruit and ate in a somewhat tense silence.

"Mr. Smithers," said Mogul. "People spend their whole lives trying to make a living, do they not?"

Smithers shrugged. "I suppose so, Sir."

"You and I both know that it is, and always has, and always will be money that makes the world turn on its axis, do we not?"

"Actually," said Smithers after some contemplation, "I would think we have the laws of physics to blame for that."

"I was speaking figuratively."

"I know, Sir. I was trying to make a joke."

"Ah."

There was a moment of awkward silence punctuated heavily by the crunching of buttered toast between Mr. Mogul's teeth. Then he said, "Very amusing."

Smithers cleared his throat. "Is there a problem, Sir?"

Mr. Mogul laid his toast down and folded up the newspaper. "It seems the citizens of Neovia are beginning to wonder if allowing me to build my headquarters here was a mistake, or so the Neovian Daily claims."

"A mistake, Sir?"

"They appreciated all the new jobs I created by doing so and they are more than happy to have such a thriving economy, but now they seem to be worried about the people who have been drawn to the town by those jobs they were so happy to have me create. They are afraid that the influx of people from Neopia Central is destroying the rich cultural traditions that make this town what it is. Blame for all this can somehow be laid at my feet."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it too much, Sir," said Smithers. "People always talk like that in old towns like this. It will go away."

Mr. Mogul took up the carving knife and began slicing up pieces of ham for himself.

"They are also bringing up several small businesses from other regions that went bankrupt shortly after I began to establish a presence. This, naturally, is all my fault, too. They are saying that I am a ruthless businessman who cares more about money than the livelihoods of the people around me."

"I'm sure it will blow over shortly."

"I don't understand it, Mr. Smithers," Mogul sighed. "Money and success are the two things that everybody in the world wants, so why is it that as soon as someone gets either to any degree, that person instantly becomes a villain? First there was that flap over my aggressive expansion campaign when I first started this company, then there was the whole incident with the local legend, Sophie, when I set up my headquarters here, now this. You'd think that making a little money was a crime."

"I'm sure it's just jealousy, Sir," said Smithers.

"It's very distressing to me, Mr. Smithers," said the fat wocky. "So distressing, it's quite destroyed my appetite."

Smithers pondered this statement as he watched Mr. Mogul scoop a large pile of scrambled eggs on top of his six slices of ham and drenched a short stack of pancakes in syrup.

"That witch, Sophie," said the Wocky thoughtfully, shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth. "She said she'd rather die than cooperate with me. Perhaps we met under bad circumstances, but I don't think it warranted that kind of hostility."

"No, Sir," said Smithers, who had only a sketchy understanding of the event. "She was definitely unfair to you there."

"Am I a monster?" Mogul asked.

"No, Sir."

"Have I ever been seen laughing maniacally while lightning can be seen cracking the sky through the window behind me?"

Smithers looked out the window. He saw no lightning.

"No, Sir."

"Am I known for keeping a cellar full of bottled fairies just for the thrill of gloating over helpless, trapped creatures?"

"No, Sir, that would be Balthazar."

"Have ever been caught walking down the street counting large wads of cash while deliberately ignoring the plights of starving, freezing little girls in the streets just because they don't have any money?"

"I've never known you to do so."

"Then why are the newspapers painting me like that?"

Smithers winced at Mogul's sharp tone. "I'm sure you're exaggerating just a little bit, Sir."

Mr. Mogul glared narrowly at Smithers and wiped a bit of syrup off of his chin with a napkin. He reached over and picked up the newspaper, opening to the article in question, reading the text aloud.

"This reporter in particular wonders why we have allowed a man who wouldn't stop to help a starving child in the streets if she couldn't afford his services to set up his headquarters in our city."

Smithers got up and walked slowly across the room, each step on the hardwood floors echoing as if consciously drawing attention to the uncomfortable quiet. He took the newspaper and skimmed the article. It definitely did not paint Mr. Mogul in a good light.

"I gave them everything they wanted," said the businessman bitterly. "I made this town prosper as it never has before. I've virtually eliminated unemployment and if things continue the way they are, poverty will be the next thing to go. This town is thriving and somehow it's my fault and not my accomplishment."

"Well, all of that made you a lot of money as well," said Smithers. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added hastily, noting Mogul's cold stare, "but it doesn't look entirely altruistic."

"Altruistic?" Mr. Mogul spat the word out like a piece of overripe fruit. "Nobody's really altruistic at heart. In the end, everybody wants something out of everything they do, even if it's just the simple satisfaction of having done it."

"Maybe so, Sir." Smithers had long since stopped trying to argue this point with his employer. "But people still like to look for it. I guess it makes them feel better, or something."

"Bah!"

Mr. Mogul shoveled another load of food into his mouth. Smithers turned and started back toward his chair, but stopped, glancing out the window. His hand went thoughtfully to his chin.

"You wouldn't refuse to help a little girl if you found her starving and freezing, would you Sir?"

"No, of course not!" snorted Mogul. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"I wouldn't presume to tell you who you are, Sir," said Smithers. "But . . ."

Smithers pointed out the window. Taking his plate with him, Mr. Mogul walked over to the window and looked out. After a moment, he speared a piece of ham with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth.

"The timing is pretty good, wouldn't you say, Sir?"

"Indeed, it is, Mr. Smithers."

Mogul took a small, brass bell out of his shirt pocket and jingled it, summoning a servant into the room.

"There's a young girl just outside the window," he said. "Go and fetch her in."

"At once, Mr. Mogul," said the servant, bowing deeply before leaving.

Mr. Mogul went back to his chair and sat down. "Let's make this business of the freezing little girl our priority for the moment. The area financial reports can wait until we're back at the office."

"Yes, Sir," said Smithers.

Smithers always liked to think that, deep down, people were essentially good, even if they needed a little reminding nudge now and then. Despite the things Mr. Mogul frequently said to the contrary, he was quite certain that hiding somewhere under the businessman's Machiavellian facade, a heart of gold was waiting to shine through if given the opportunity. Perhaps Mogul was finally getting that chance.


	3. Annie

The little shivering Cybunny was white as the snow she had been sheltering from, all save for the top halves of her ears, which were blackened and withering from frostbite. They would probably be much shorter by the end of the day by the look of them. Rogers had wrapped her up in a blanket, but beneath that, she was wearing only a ragged, dirty shirt that seemed to be sewn from an old potato sack, neither fashionable, nor very warm. The green Slorg plush doll clutched tightly in her trembling hands wouldn't have offered any warmth either. Smithers thought it was a miracle that her ears were the only thing she was going to loose from her night in the cold.

Mr. Mogul turned to his butler. "Have we fixed the issue of the frozen pipes, Rogers?"

"I think so."

"Then I want you to draw a hot bath immediately; we have to get this girl warm quickly."

"Right away."

Rogers bowed and left the room. Mr. Mogul removed his suit coat and draped it over the girl's shoulders for extra warmth, leading her over to the fire.

"Warm yourself slowly," he said. "Yes, that's it, rub your hands together; you want to be warmed up a little before you get in the bath, or the hot water will send you into shock."

The girl stared into the dancing flames as if mesmerized, hardly aware of her own actions. She looked more surprised than grateful to find herself brought in out of the cold. Smithers filled a plate with some fruit, poured a small glass of milk and brought them over to her. The girl glanced at it suspiciously. Smithers's smile made her no less doubtful of the offer, but she hesitantly reached out and took a berry from the plate. It fell from her numb, trembling fingers and bounced once on the floor.

"That's okay," said Smithers reassuringly. "I'll get it."

He reached down and picked the berry up, placing it in the girl's palm. She plopped the berry into her mouth, chewed mechanically and swallowed. He then helped her drink a little of the milk, not wanting to see it spilled on the floor. When she had finished half the glass, she pushed it away. Smithers set it on the fireplace mantel.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The girl turned to him with a dazed, but wary expression.

"You do have a name, don't you?" asked Mr. Mogul.

After a moment, she wiped away the milk-mustache on her mouth and replied, "Annie."

The Wocky nodded. "And where are your parents, Annie?"

She shrugged. "I don't have any. I was abandoned at the Neopia Central pound when I was young. I don't even remember who my parents were."

There was no emotion as she said this. It was merely a statement of fact she had long come to terms with. A look passed between Smithers and Mr. Mogul. A slight smile tugged at the edge of the businessman's lips, but he covered it up with concern that Smithers thought was genuine.

"I never did like that place," he said.

"How did you end up here?" Smithers asked.

A shadow haunted the girl's face for a moment, but when she saw Smithers staring at her curiously, she shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well that's fine," said Mr. Mogul. "We really don't need to hear it. Rest assured, you are safe now and you won't have to worry about going back. We'll make certain of that, won't we Smithers?"

"Of course, Sir," replied Smithers earnestly. "We wouldn't even send our worst enemy there."

Annie looked up at the two of them, nervous and apprehensive. She took another berry off the plate and slowly put it into her mouth. She chewed on it for a moment, eying Smithers and Mogul narrowly, then swallowed it and reached for a larger piece of fruit.

"What's your angle?" she asked.

"Angle?" said Smithers, hurt that she would even suspect one of him. "What makes you think we have an angle?"

Annie took a bite out of the green apple she had picked and continued to stare silently at Smithers, unconvinced.

"Mr. Smithers believes that one doesn't need a reason to be good to people," explained Mr. Mogul.

The Cybunny gave Smithers another appraisal. "An optimist," she said with just a hint of wonder. "I've never met one of those before."

"Yes, they do exist. I find them quite useful to keep around sometimes."

Before Smithers could respond, Rogers came back in, a white towel draped over one arm. He bowed.

"I've drawn the bath, Sir," he said. "We couldn't get it really hot, but it's still pretty warm."

"Good enough, Rogers," said the businessman. "Take young Annie here to the bath and provide her with anything she needs."

Patting the girl on the back, he ushered Annie over to his butler. Rogers took her hand and led her out of the room. For a moment, Mr. Mogul stood with his back turned to Smithers, staring at the closed door. When he turned, there was an amused grin on his face.

"We wouldn't even send our worst enemy?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, I wouldn't."

The businessman chuckled a little, shaking his head. Smithers wondered for a moment if Mogul didn't entirely agree, but quickly dismissed the thought. Surely nobody would be so cruel as to _want_ to send someone to the pound. Would they?

He glanced down at Mogul's reclining Gathow and, in spite of experience, reached down to pet her. Precious hissed furiously and swiped her claws at him. Smithers barely pulled his hand away in time to avoid getting scratched and stared at the animal, wondering what had possessed him to try petting her in the first place.

"It's a good thing that you noticed her, Mr. Smithers," Mogul said.

"It certainly is," Smithers agreed, glad to have a change of subject. "If I hadn't, she probably would have completely frozen. I'm surprised she wasn't already with how cold it was last night."

"Indeed." Mogul glanced at the newspaper sitting on the table. "There would have been no end to the bad press I'd have gotten if we'd found a girl frozen in the snow instead of rescuing her from it."

With a bit of effort, Smithers kept smiling. "Oh, right. The press."

"Speaking of which, I want you to draft a letter for the newspapers."

"Me, Sir?" Smithers cleared his throat. "I don't think I'm really the right person to do that sort of thing. My speciality was always sums and figures, not words."

Mogul waved a dismissive hand. "It doesn't have to be elaborate, just enough to tell people that a young girl has been found and needs a good home. I'm sure you shouldn't find it too difficult."

"Why don't you just take her in yourself?"

Smithers's question was met with shocked disbelief from his employer. Mogul stared blankly his financial advisor, his mouth hanging just slightly open.

"Surely, you must be joking. Mr. Smithers."

Smithers shook his head. "No," he said, thinking quickly. "I think it would . . . reflect very well on you . . . in the public eye. Think about it; a wealthy businessman taking in an orphan and giving her a home? Surely the press can't help but make you look like a model citizen if you gave them a story like that. It would be perfect."

"Mr. Smithers," said Mogul very sternly, "there are a few things more important than good press."

Smithers shrugged. "Fair enough, but . . ."

"I don't know the first thing about raising a child," Mogul continued. "Twelve out of my sixteen waking hours are spent at the office and I'm regularly away on business trips that I couldn't possibly take her on. She'd spend the majority of her time alone with the house staff, having nothing to do but get in their way."

"I suppose that's true," Smithers reluctantly agreed. "You could hire a nanny."

Mr. Mogul leaned back, apparently stunned by the suggestion. His eyes grew distant and full of memory – not very pleasant memories by the look of it. After a moment, he made a dramatic sweeping gesture with his hand.

"Absolutely not! What the girl needs is a good set of parents and I am neither adequate, nor interested in filling the role myself. No, it's better to oversee to her adoption than raise her myself."

Smithers' shoulders sagged a little. "As you wish, Sir," he sighed. "I'll draft the letter at once."

"And while you're at it," Mogul added, sitting back down at the table and pulling his plate closer, "arrange for a short trip to Neopia Central."

"Why?"

"We're taking Annie to the mall. No one staying in my home is going to dress like a bag of starchy vegetables."

Smithers smiled, convinced that his employer's gruff talk was really just a facade covering genuine concern for the girl's happiness and well-being. "Right away."

Between a two tremendous bites of his pancakes, Mr. Mogul muttered, "I've been meaning to take care of some business up there anyway. This is a good excuse."


	4. A Visit to the Mall

A storm had covered Neopia Central with a coat of snow the night before. People buckled down and went to work like they did every winter and dawn broke on the city to find the citizens already all out and shoveling their walks. There were piles of snow up to four feet high scattered along the outskirts of the city after all the roads had been cleared. By noon, the work was done and the city got started on its regular business and the mall, Neopia Central's biggest source of revenue, was bloated with customers rushing to get the best deals on the best items from all around the planet.

Smithers walked alongside Mogul with a spritely spring in his step, young Annie's hand held in his. Even while still in the parking lot, it took an effort of will not to laugh out loud with joy and excitement. He had been to the Neopia Central Mall a few times before, but he never lost that sense of amazement that he'd first gotten from the sight of it. He stared with wide-eyed wonder at the three story building, with its food courts, musical performers, puppet shows, shining spot-lights and all the colors – oh, so many colors. Only a few weeks from Giving Day, the mall was decorated with wreaths and mistletoe and towering pine trees covered from top to bottom in ornaments of all shapes, sizes and colors. Signs at every corner loudly proclaimed in neon screams that their stores to have the best sales in the building.

There were stores for everything. There were stores for clothes and the fashions ran through every possible style you could think of, with new ones popping up every month. There were stores for weapons and armor for people who competed in the Battledome competitions – not that Smithers had any interest in that sort of thing himself, but it was there if you wanted it. There were beauty parlors and toy shops and game arenas. There were even stalls for various holiday charities set up between the stores.

"I just love the mall!" Smithers said loudly, grinning from ear to ear.

For his part, Mr. Mogul pretended not to hear anything, tapping his cane irritably against the ground with every step. He had other thoughts occupying his mind. Before heading out to the mall, he had stopped by a doctor that morning to have Annie examined. Her ears had been amputated because of the frostbite, but that hadn't been a surprise. What had been a surprise was the doctor's report that the girl had a number of minor injuries that had been competently, if hastily treated. Along with an assortment of bruises, it looked like there were bites from some sort of animal as well. It was entirely possible she'd had a run-in with a wild animal before arriving at his mansion, but somehow, he didn't think that was the case. If Annie had had an encounter with the wild beasts of the Haunted Woods, Mogul suspected she'd have ended up joining the ghosts that haunted it. He hadn't mentioned any this to Smithers – he would have made a bigger deal of it than was necessary – and he hadn't seen fit to ask Annie about it yet, but it worried him a little bit.

"I love this place," Smithers repeated.

Annie glanced up at the Bori, what remained of her ears leaning back against her head in embarrassment.

"Well, aren't you excited," she muttered.

"Oh, yes," Smithers agreed, completely missing the tone of the young girl's voice. "It's amazing, isn't it?"

"It's a big building with a bunch of stores in it," said Annie. "What's so special about that?"

"Oh, but think of all there is to see and do here! Just about anything in the world you could possibly want, you can find somewhere in this building. It's a like a dream."

"Not really," observed Annie. "It doesn't cost you anything to dream."

That took a bit of the skip out of Smithers' stride. For a moment, his smile was in very grave danger of falling, but he caught it just before it tumbled to its doom and raised it back up onto solid ground.

"Well, yes, but unlike a dream, nothing here will go away after you wake up, so it's really better than a dream."

Mogul cleared his throat uncomfortably and started to inch himself away from his financial officer, only to see to his complete horror that Annie followed, dragging the Bori with her.

"You're not serious," she said. "You can't be."

"I am," said Smithers. "I mean, look at all there is to do! Doesn't it make you just want to break out into song?"

In accordance with the universal laws of comedy, the three were just passing by a stage at that moment and a group of four myncies burst into a bubbly pop version of an old Giving Day carol. Their voices were at least a whole octave higher than any male singer should even be capable of managing. The three of them paused to listen for a moment, watching the performers twirl and prance about in striking example of truly terrible choreography, while flocks of teenage girls crowded around the front of the stage, squealing and swooning, ready to leap out and drag the singers off the stage and into their midst if they dared venture to close to the edge. If they got lucky, they might even manage to tear off a strip of a shirt before their prey managed to scramble to safety.

Annie and Mogul looked at each other for a moment, then answered Smither's question in a single, firm voice that left Smithers feeling like the universe's biggest dunce.

"No."

While Smithers lingered behind, his eyes focused on the singers and his mind directed to the task of salvaging his pride, Annie and Mogul tried to slip away.

"Well, it would have to be a better song than that, but . . ."

He glanced to the side and saw his employer leaving him behind. Calling out over the noise, he rushed to catch up. The general din of the crowd covered their disappointed groans when he did.

"I almost got left behind there," he said with a laugh.

"Wouldn't that have been terrible," Annie said under her breath.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

Mr. Mogul looked around briefly and something caught his eye. He took his pocket watch from his suit coat, but didn't really look at it long enough to get the time before it disappeared back into his pocket.

"Um," he said, "Mr. Smithers, I'm going to . . . attend to some personal business. Why don't you take young Annie around the shops and get her some good clothes. Remember that money is not an object. Just make sure that whatever you get her is tasteful."

Annie shot the businessman a simmering glare and he returned it with a look that tried to be apologetic, but didn't really have much heart in it. She rolled her eyes as Smithers, who missed the unspoken conversation entirely, pulled her closer to him.

"Right," he said. "You can count on me."

"I'm sure I can," the businessman drily replied. "Just remember: tasteful."

Mogul slipped into the river of moving bodies and waded his way over to a Grundo shop selling merchandise from the space station. He glanced around twice before slipping into the shop. Through the window, Smithers could see Mogul take the sign and turn it around so that it read "closed." He started to wonder what that meant, but quickly decided it was better not to ask questions in that direction. He forced himself to smile as he turned back to Annie. It drooped a little when she groaned at him, but managed to stay more or less up.

"Well, let's take a look at the shops, shall we?"

Annie replied with an unenthusiastic shrug.

"That's the spirit," said Smithers. "Don't go running ahead of me, though, or you might get lost in the crowd."

Annie considered this a moment, thinking how much she might have enjoyed losing Smithers, but after a glance around, decided against it.

"I wouldn't dare run around in the mall," she said. "All the colors would send me into a seizure."

"Exactly," said Smithers, who was so absorbed in the search for a suitable clothes shop that he hadn't heard a word. "Aha! Over there."

Annie glanced in the direction Smithers was pointing and nearly swallowed her tongue. The shop was called "Pretty in Pink" and as far as she was concerned, the dresses on display in the windows only managed half of that claim. She'd never seen so much lace, or so many ribbons in one place in all her life. The thought of being seen in one of those made her stomach do somersaults.

"I don't think so," she said hesitantly.

"You're going to look so cute when we're done shopping today," Smithers said.

"I really don't think I want to go into that store," Annie said, a little louder.

But it was wasted breath. The overeager Bori dragged the protesting girl through the crowd to the shop, blissfully unaware of her attempts to pry her hand loose from his grasp.


	5. Shopping

"I'm not coming out," came Annie's voice from the behind the dressing room door.

"What's wrong?" Smithers asked.

"I look like an Usuki doll."

"Oh, come now," Smithers replied. "Surely it's not that bad."

"There's too many ribbons and frills," said Annie. "The hem drags on the floor and it makes me look like I've got a huge butt. And what's with these poofy shoulders?" Smithers heard an exasperated groan. "Didn't Mr. Mogul say that the dress should be tasteful?"

"Just come out and let me be the judge of how tasteful it is."

Smithers could feel Annie's hate through the door like waves of heat. He took a step back away and waited. With a dry creak, the door opened slowly. Framed like a picture in the doorway, Annie stood in an ornate pink and white dress and a pink hair bow, the accompanying umbrella laid aside in favor of her plushy. Smithers nodded to himself as he looked her up and down.

"It's cute," he said.

"It's demeaning," Annie replied. "What kind of person would dress someone up like this? There really ought to be a law against it."

"Then you don't like it?"

Annie paused for a moment, squinting at the accountant as she tried to decide whether or not he was being serious. It didn't come nearly as much as a shock to her as she expected to realize he was.

"No," she said. "I don't like it."

Smithers sighed. "Well, alright then, go ahead and take it off and we'll find something else."

The door slammed shut and a few minutes later, Annie reemerged in her old potato sack. She hurled the wadded up dress at Smithers like a basketball. He hissed fearfully through his teeth as he caught it and quickly unfolded it, straightening out the wrinkles as best as he could.

"Please, Annie," he said. "Just because you didn't like it, doesn't mean others mightn't."

"If they want it," she answered, "they deserve it. That dress is horribly uncomfortable."

"I'm sure it wasn't as bad as all that."

Annie eyed Smithers again, sufficiently nonplused. "How did a guy like you become Mr. Mogul's chief financial officer?"

"Is that so strange?"

"Well, you're so peppy. I'll bet if a house got dropped on you, you'd tell the doctors how grateful you were that the world decided to provide you with a home before they put you in a full body cast."

Smithers brow furrowed as he ran that through his head a couple of times. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

Annie made a sort of grasping gesture with her hands, as if trying to snatch her meaning out of the air itself. "Well, I mean . . . well, you're not like Mr. Mogul at all. Everything's sunshine and lollipops with you, but Mr. Mogul's all stiff. I'd think a guy like him would sooner strangle a guy like you than make you his financial officer."

Smithers felt a little taken aback at this. "I think that's a really unfair thing for you to say of the man who's doing all this for you."

"He's only doing it so he can look good," Annie replied. "It's not like he actually cares."

Smithers laid the dress carefully over a rack and went to kneel down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, Annie, that's not true at all."

The girl pushed his arm off indignantly. "Of course it is. Don't insult me by telling me it isn't. People aren't like that, you know; they don't care about anybody they just happen to meet like that. Life's all about being comfortable and making money. Mogul's got lots of money, so he doesn't need anything else, except to look good for the newspapers."

Smithers put his hands on her shoulders and looked her right in the eye. The sudden intensity of his expression caught her so off-guard that words fled from her mind.

"Listen to me, Annie," he said. "Money isn't everything and even Mr. Mogul knows that. He's trying really hard to do what's best for you."

"Oh? Then why is he looking to hand me off to somebody else? I saw the letter in the paper."

Smithers's mouth hung open for a moment, then he closed it sharply. "I talked with him about that myself. Mr. Mogul doesn't feel like he would be a good parent to you. I think that if he didn't actually care, he would take you in, because that would look a lot better for him, but he wants you to have good parents who can give you the love and attention you really deserve."

"In other words, Mogul doesn't know how to love people himself."

"That's not it at all." Smithers paused, considering. "Well, at least that's not all of it. Look, Mr. Mogul . . . well, he never really grew up."

Annie raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"What I mean is that he never had a childhood. You can't grow up if you were never a child. Even when he was young, his father had him working hard, drilling the ins and outs of business into his head everyday and sending him to a private boy's school at much too early an age. Mr. Mogul never had the chance to be a kid, so he didn't grow up, he just grew old. All his life, money and success has been a huge part of his self-image. He can't imagine himself without it and by the time he realized there should be other things to life, he'd gotten too set in his ways to learn anything else."

"That's really sad, I guess," said Annie with an off-handed shrug. "But that's life."

Smithers leaned back away from the girl, stunned. His eyes moistened slightly with tears. To think that someone so young should have such a cold and depressing outlook on life. What kind of horrible experiences had brought her to the dark place where her mind resided? He wrapped his arms around her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her face reddening a bit.

"I promise things are going to get better for you," he said. "I promise."

"Okay, okay," Annie moaned. "I'll be happy, I'll be happy."

"Yes, you will."

Annie glanced around the room. People were staring. Self-conscious, she tried to pry herself loose from his arms, but he had a grip like a vice and he seemed clueless of the looks he was getting from the shop patrons.

"Um . . . please let go," she said.

Thankfully, Smithers finally did. He met her eyes again, his quiet intensity moderated by a hopeful smile.

"Just remember, tomorrow is only a day away."

Annie considered this strange piece of information before answering with profoundly childlike wisdom. "And yesterday was only a day ago."

Smithers opened his mouth to say something, but nothing seemed really appropriate, so he closed it again. Taking her hand, he stood back up and led her out of the store. Browsing the various clothing shops, they rummaged through the merchandise until they found a few sets that Annie felt comfortable with; stylish, but conservative, businesslike. And grey. Smithers marveled at how strangely similar Annie was to his employer. He also wondered briefly whether that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

Just before heading to the cash register to pay for everything, a thought occurred to him.

"Annie," he said, "why don't you pick out something you can give to Mr. Mogul as a gift?"

The girl glanced at him curiously.

"It would be a nice thing to do," he said.

Annie considered this for a moment. It was a nice thing, she supposed, although it seemed a little pointless to her. Still, if she told him no, he might get all mushy and start hugging her again. She looked around the shop for a bit until she came to a display of scarves. She thought about how cold the night had been outside Mogul's home, unconsciously feeling the stumps of her ears. With that thought in mind, she picked out a blue and orange striped scarf and handed it to Smithers. The Bori smiled.

"The winters are really cold in Neovia," she said.

"That's very thoughtful of you," Smithers replied.

After buying the clothes and having the scarf gift-wrapped, they went back to the Grundo shop to find Mogul. They saw him alone in the empty shop with the clerk, huddling conspiratorially over a large metal suitcase. Hearing the bell ring as Smithers opened the door, both of them looked up, startled.

"We're closed at the moment," said the green Grundo quickly.

"No, it's alright," said Mogul. "They're with me and we're done anyway, right?"

The shopkeeper nodded nervously. Before either Smithers or Annie could see what was in the suitcase, the shopkeeper closed it and twisted the dial on the complicated mechanical lock. There was a soft hiss of escaping gas as the vacuum seal activated. Mogul took the case off the table, smiling to himself.

"It's probably best if you were to forget about ordering this . . . piece of merchandise." Mogul's throaty purring voice had taken on a slightly menacing undertone. "I would also appreciate there not being any records of this transaction either."

The Grundo cleared his throat nervously. "I think that can be arranged."

Mr. Mogul took a toffee out of his pocket and slowly unwrapped it. Plopping the sweet into his mouth and chewing slowly, he crumpled the wrapper up and dropped it casually into the wastebasket beside the front desk before picking up his cane.

"Good."

He turned to Smithers and Annie.

"Are we finished?" he asked.

They nodded.

"Excellent. Now, let's get ourselves home. Precious is probably worried sick waiting for us back at home."

Smithers, who had never been able to think of any word to accurately describe Mogul's Gathow except for malevolent, optimist though he was, said nothing. Together the three of them left the shop, which opened shortly after they were gone. If there were questions about why the shop had closed, what was in the case, or what Mr. Mogul intended to do with its contents, nobody asked them.


	6. An Unexpected Guest

For the next few days after returning from the mall, Mr. Mogul spent two hours after work every day in his office, meeting with people who came to adopt Annie. Not just people from Neovia, but people from all corners of the planet came to meet the young girl in his care. So many people who wanted to adopt the sweet, wonderful young girl – and yet the pound at Neopia Central was still so full of unwanted Neopets.

"I should have foreseen this, Mr. Smithers," Mogul said one evening after sending the last of the guests away, stroking his purring Gathow. "In putting word out that I want to see Annie adopted, people came thinking that I'd be paying them lots of money to take care of her. The result is that they're more interested in the money than the girl."

"I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks, Sir," replied Smithers.

Annie, sitting in the corner and sucking on one of Mogul's chocolate coated Candystix, eyed the Bori for a moment, but said nothing. It was amazing how quickly you could get used to things, even Smithers's unrealistically positive outlook. It no longer shocked Annie to think that he probably genuinely believed people were all good deep down. Centuries of history full of war just passed some people by, she guessed.

"The hardest part is tricking the truth out of the really clever ones," Mogul continued. "Maybe putting a notice in the paper was the wrong way to go about this."

"But then, nobody would have known you helped a poor little girl out and you wouldn't have gotten all of that good press," said Annie.

"True enough. On the other hand, having made such a fuss out of it may just as easily backfire, with people suspecting my motives were entirely to help my public image."

"Isn't that always how it goes?" said Annie. "You try and help people and it always comes back to bite you."

"Precisely," Mogul answered, nodding. "And then there's all the revenue that Neovia's hotel and tourist industries are getting because of this, but no, I'm bringing in more foreigners. How dare I?"

"Really," agreed Annie, "what's the point of setting up a tourist trade if you don't want people to come?"

"People are just absurd sometimes."

Annie and Mogul both took a deep breath and then let it out in a heavy sigh. Smithers's eyes shifted from one to the other and back again. The two were so alike it sometimes scared him. And now they were feeling down again. He decided that he had to do something about that, but before he could, Rogers entered the office.

"Sir, one of your guests is refusing to leave," the butler said.

Mogul buried his face in one hand. "Oh, honestly, Rogers, are you telling me you can't handle this?"

"He says he has papers showing proper documentation that he is the girl's father."

Out of the corner of his peripheral vision, Smithers noticed Annie's eyes grow to the size of dinner plates. When he turned his head, he saw her standing still as stone, her mouth slightly ajar, the candy clutched in her hands half way out of it.

"Oh?" said Mr. Mogul, only mildly interested. "Who is he?"

"A Mr. Buschimi, the Techo," answered Rogers.

Annie began to shiver uncontrollably. Smithers stepped over to her and put one hand on her shoulder. She looked up into his concerned face with a look of overpowering horror.

"Send him in then," Mogul told his butler.

"No!" Annie somehow managed it to be half a shout and half a dreadful whisper. The other three immediately turned to her, shocked by her reaction. Even Mogul's Gathow seemed surprised. Trembling, Annie had curled up into a little ball, her arms crossed defensively across her chest. "No, send him away. I won't go back with him. I won't!"

"Annie, what's wrong?" asked Smithers. "Do you know this man."

"He adopted me from the pound," said Annie. "He's a horrible person. He locked me up with a bunch of other kids and forced us all to work all day for him making clothes and things. He barely fed us anything and only lets us have a few hours of sleep each night and never let us go outside. When I tried to run away the first time, he sent his Werhonds after me and had them drag me back and . . . and . . ."

Annie fell into a fit of sobs. The others stared in dumbfounded silence. Smithers was the first to break it.

"Why didn't you tell us about this before?"

"Because I was afraid you would send me back."

"Oh, Annie, no." Smithers put his arms around the little girl and hugged her close, letting her tears dampen his shirt while she sobbed into his shoulder. "We would never do anything like that."

"Quite right," said Mr. Mogul, his voice full of disgust.

Mogul put a hand to his chin in thought. A wicked smile crossed his face, glistening in the lamplight. Swiveling his chair around, he reached for his cane, giving his Gathow a moment to jump down off his lap before standing.

"Don't you worry about a thing, Annie," he purred. "I'll take care of this. Mr. Smithers, I'm going to have to ask you to step away from her for a moment. Let's not give Mr. Buschimi any reason to think we suspect something."

"What are you going to do, Sir?" asked Smithers.

Mogul opened his desk drawer and pulled out a cassette recorder, putting a blank tape inside it. "Sometimes, I find it useful to record private meetings; you never know when someone's going to say something they'll wish they hadn't later. Rogers, send him in. Be sure you knock before you enter."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Mogul straightened his tie and smoothed the shoulders of his suit coat. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, letting it out slowly. When he opened them again, he had a slight grin. Leaning on his cane, he stared down his nose at the door through eyes not quite all the way open in a coldly detached and haughty expression, what he liked to think of as his business-face. When the knock came on the door a few moments later, Mogul pressed the record button, laid it back in the desk drawer and closed it.

"Enter," he purred.

The door opened and a greasy-haired purple Techo in a tan leather jacket, white shirt and black pants came into the room. One eye focused on Annie instantly and his mouth spread in a grin badly in need of orthodontic surgery, but the other eye remained nervously fixed on Mogul.

"Oh, Annie, it _is_ you," he said in a gratingly nasal voice. "I'd given up hope of ever finding you."

Rogers bowed and stepped out the door, closing it behind him. The eye Buschimi had fixed on Annie shifted to Mogul as the Techo turned his head, allowing his other eye to look at the door. He turned back to Mogul and fixed him with both eyes, although one kept occasionally darting to the little girl as he talked.

"Thanks so much for finding her, Mr. Mogul," he said. "I can't tell you how worried sick I've been since she disappeared. It's so cold this time of year. I've been looking through the newspapers thinking that someone might find her."

"Yes," purred the businessman. "I'm certain you have. My butler tells me that you have proof of her adoption?"

Grinning crookedly, Buschimi took a folded set of papers from his jacket pocket and straightened them out on Mogul's desk. Mogul took a Candystix from the jar on his desk and began to suck on it as he leaned over to examine the documents. He looked up at the Techo briefly, then gestured to the jar.

"Would you like some candy?"

"Oh," said Buschimi. "Don't mind if I do."

He snatched a stick from the bowl and stuffed it into his mouth, wrapping it up in his tongue before closing his lips over it.

"So, as you can see, I'm the girl's father," he said. "I'd like to take her back as soon as possible. She's missing so much of her, um, schooling."

"Indeed. Well, I wouldn't want to keep you. I can't tell you how glad I am to finally be getting her back where she belongs."

Buschimi nodded, taking the papers and making them disappear into his coat like a magician's trick. Still smiling, he moved around the desk toward Annie, his hand outstretched.

"Well," he said, "I guess we'll be going now. Come on, Annie."

Annie pulled back away.

"I said come."

"No," Annie said.

"Come now, Annie," said Mogul. "There's no reason to keep your father waiting."

"But . . ."

"No buts," Buschimi said sharply. "Come with me."

The Techo took hold of Annie's arm and started to drag her away. She took hold of his hand and tried to pry his fingers loose, but the Techo proved much stronger than he looked. As he was passing by Mogul, dragging the loudly resisting girl with him, the businessman turned and laid his cane on Buschimi's shoulder.

"One thing, before you go," he said, then turned to Smithers. "Mr. Smithers, would you please summon the newspapers?"

"The newspapers?" the Techo gasped, one eye darting back and forth between the three in the room and the other glancing around for possible exits. "Why the newspapers?"

"Oh, business, of course," Mogul replied. "Surely you didn't think I did this just to make a little girl happy, did you? No, I want the world to know that I helped this girl out. It will improve my reputation. Won't it, Mr. Smithers?"

"Oh, infinitely so, Sir," replied the Bori.

"Oh, well I'll make sure and tell everyone I know, then."

"That's not good enough," purred Mogul. He swallowed loudly and plucked the cleaned stick out of his mouth and tossed it into the wastebasket beside his desk. "Rumors are one thing, but a picture is worth a thousand words. It will ensure that everybody knows what I've done for the girl." He grinned in the most threateningly pleasant manner possible. "Everybody."

"I don't think . . ." started the Techo, but Mogul cut him off.

"Why the hesitancy?" His voice took on a deliberate slowness. "Is there a reason why you wouldn't want your face in all the papers around the world?"

Buschimi swallowed and grinned nervously. "Well, no, of course not."

Mogul hooked the handle of his cane on the Techo's face and drew him closer. "Are you certain there's no reason you don't want to be in the papers? No reason at all?"

Buschimi stammered out a reply, his eyes darting about furiously. When the Techo turned his head away briefly, Annie watched Mogul draw back his cane and saw all the pleasantness of his expression drop away, exposing a rage so passionate that it seemed the man who had taken her in was replaced by some terrible apparition from the Haunted Woods. She could not tear her gaze away from those lips peeled back in a silent snarl, those eyes widened until the whites encircled the irises. It was there for but a moment, gone as swiftly as it had appeared, but it would always linger in her memory for all the years of her life.

Buschimi saw Annie's expression moments before the world exploded into darkness. Little stars blossomed before his eyes and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor, his face stinging and slowly turning red. Before he could say anything, he felt the heel of Mogul's shoe press against his shoulder and roll him roughly over onto his back. The tip of Mogul's cane poked hard against his collarbone and although Mogul did not lean on it, Buschimi could feel the weight of that potential action crushing him like a bug. The businessman leaned down and took the papers from Buschimi's jacket.

"Mr. Smithers, toss these documents into the furnace."

"Yes, Sir."

"What?" screamed the Techo. "You can't do that!"

But Smithers proved him wrong by doing just that.

"You can't do this!" Buschimi shouted again. "I got rights!"

Mr. Mogul showed a shark's grin. "Isn't it amusing how people always fall back on rights, Mr. Smithers? It's like they believe that it means something, as if some magical fairy was going to come down out of the clouds and make sure everybody plays nice."

The Techo was silent. He glared up from the floor, both eyes fixed on Mogul with loathing.

"You don't think those are the only records, do you?" he said. "The pound has a copy as well."

"Oh, yes," purred Mogul. "Take me to court. I normally like to avoid that, but I'll gladly make an exception here. We'll expose your little child labor sweatshop for the whole world to see. Saving all those little children will do wonders for my reputation."

Buschimi tried to crawl back away, but Mogul pressed his cane down on the Techo's shoulder, pinning him to the floor.

"You . . ." Buschimi licked his lips nervously. "You don't have any proof."

"So?" Mogul's perfectly candid reply down the Techo's back. "I have influence. All I have to do is make the suggestion to the right people and the authorities will launch a full investigation. They will find all the proof they need."

Buschimi's eyes darted around again. "Hey, there's no reason to make this ugly."

"Oh, Mr. Buschimi, this situation got ugly the moment you came in the room," said Mogul.

"I know what you want," said Buschimi, thinking as quickly as he could. "You want money, right? I've got contracts with a lot of shops."

"There are shops that will buy merchandise produced by child labor?" asked Smithers.

"Of course there are." Buschimi seemed shocked that the question even needed to be asked. "Under cut your competitors and buyers don't stop to wonder where it comes from or how it's made; those aren't profitable questions." He turned back to Mogul. "Look, you want to keep the girl, find a nice home for her? Sure, okay, I'll go down to the pound and sign guardianship to whoever you want and then you can look good for the press."

"Ah, but bringing you in will do so much more," said Mogul.

"But if you let me go, I can cut you in on the profits," said Buschimi, forcing a smile. "I can make twenty grand a month easily. We could split that fifty-fifty. That way, you still get to look good and you make some extra money without ever having to do any work. That's good, right?"

Mr. Mogul pulled his cane away and appeared to consider the proposition.

"Yes," said Mogul. "I think that sounds fair enough."

Buschimi stood up and started for the door. "Yeah, s'right. Fair. So, I'll just be going now."

"Through the window, Mr. Buschimi," said Mogul. "I don't want anyone to see you leaving my home."

"Right."

The Techo quickly opened up the window and disappeared into the cold winter night. Mogul watched him leave, then crossed the room and closed the window.

"He'll probably be wishing I let him get his coat before the night's through," he said with a chuckle as he went back to his desk and opened up the drawer.

"Why did you let him go?" Annie demanded. "You can't really think he's going to pay you off. He'll run."

"He won't get far." Mr. Mogul removed the tape from the recorder and handed it to Smithers. "There is a certain detective who goes by the name of Danil living in Altador. Have this tape and an advance offer of five hundred delivered to his office as soon as possible."

"At once, Sir."


	7. A Splendid Party

Two weeks after a beaten Techo crawled out of Mr. Mogul's office window, the businessman and his chief financial officer were together again in that same office. It was the night before Giving Day and all through his house, the sound of impending celebration was loud enough to wake the dead from their graves. Considering how close they were to the Haunted Woods, Smithers wasn't quite sure he liked that analogy, but he couldn't think of a better one at the moment. It didn't seem to bother Mr. Mogul much, except for how all the noise made it difficult to focus on reading the front page headline of the Neovian Daily.

It was a good article. Following an investigation based on a tip given by NeoCorp owner Mr. Alexander Mogul, private detective and professional infiltrator Danil Rosenberg uncovered an illegal factory running on child labor, freeing nearly forty children between the ages of ten to fifteen and arresting twenty individuals including the boss, a purple Techo with a particularly hideous mug shot. Trial dates had been set for some time in the following month and they were currently being held without bail in a jail in Altador. In light of these events, Mr. Mogul had decided to take in the children until suitable homes could be found for them, all out of the goodness of his heart.

"Well, Mr. Smithers," said Mogul with a satisfied chuckle, "if that's not good press, then nothing is."

"Indeed, Sir," replied Smithers. "Not to mention all of the little children that you'll be giving good homes as soon as you can find them."

Mr. Mogul glanced up briefly from the paper. "What? Oh, yes. The children. Splendid."

He went back to his reading, but Smithers wasn't fooled for a second by his boss's attitude. He knew how Mogul really felt deep down in his heart. He'd probably never show it openly, but Smithers was sure that Mogul was developing a certain affection for the cute little tykes. How could he not?

"Blasted inconvenient, though," said Mogul suddenly. "Those kids eat a lot and they're so noisy. I almost regret my decision."

Almost. Smithers thought that was the key word. Almost. As Mr. Mogul folded up the newspaper and laid it down on his desk, Smithers couldn't help but smile. They'd saved children, captured the villains who were abusing them and were helping them find loving homes; he could pretend all he wanted, but as far as Smithers was concerned, Mogul was a good man. Almost heroic. Almost.

"Mr. Smithers," said Mogul slowly, casually watching the Bori from the corner of his eyes, "it makes me very uncomfortable when you stare at me like that. Stop it."

"Sorry, Sir," Smithers sheepishly replied. "I'm just thinking how good it feels to help all those children."

"Ye-es," said Mogul, reaching for his cane. "You keep thinking that, but look the other way when you do it. Your expression is quite unnerving me."

Smithers put his hand on Mogul's shoulder and gave him a sly wink. "Oh, come on, Sir, it's almost Giving Day. You can afford to let your heart grow a few sizes."

"I most certainly can not," Mogul replied, suddenly startled. "An enlarged heart can lead to serious complications. That's far too much of a risk for someone in my position."

Smithers blinked. He thought about this for a moment, then smiled as a thought occurred to him. With a grin, he poked his boss in the ribs with an elbow and said, "I was speaking figuratively, Sir."

Mr. Mogul sniffed and straightened his suit coat.

"Were you now?" he said and stepped around his desk. "Well, never mind. There's a party going on and I suppose we ought to get to it before Rogers drinks all the egg nog. Come, Precious."

Mogul reached down and beckoned to his lounging Gathow and waited for her to come to him, scooping her up and carrying her under one arm. Smithers stood back a moment, wondering if his employer had just misplaced the joke, or if he hadn't been making one in the first place. Then he shrugged the question off. As Mr. Mogul had said, there was a party to get to; anything else could wait.

Mr. Mogul's ballroom was full to the bursting that year. On the whole, Smithers thought it would probably be remembered as one of the best Giving Day balls that Mogul had ever thrown – well, except for the bit about Rogers drinking too much egg nog and being sick in a very expensive Geraptiku vase, but nothing is ever perfect. All the usual guests for his NeoCorp Board party and their families were in attendance along with the forty orphaned children, many of whom were getting to enjoy their first real Giving Day celebration ever. In the end, three of them went home with new parents, a present they would appreciate for the rest of their lives.

Mr. Mogul had not quite been sure how to entertain young people, but he left that up to Annie and, for the most part, she managed to keep them out of trouble, a few spilled drinks and loud noises notwithstanding. She even arranged for the children to form a little choir and sing Giving Day carols. It was quite horrible; not a single child could sing on key, half of them were mumbling through words they couldn't remember and one particularly mischievous young Kacheek boy kept poking the Aisha girl in front of him until she turned around and slugged him right in the face. That said, everybody applauded it and agreed that it was certainly a most unforgettable performance.

During dinner, Mr. Mogul proposed a toast to another successful year at NeoCorp and everybody drank to it. One of the board members also proposed a toast to Mr. Mogul himself for his charitable act and to the futures of the children and everybody drank to that. Smithers then proposed a toast to Annie, who had made such a profound impact on their lives and although some of them weren't really sure what that impact had been, they drank to it all the same. Then the trouble-making Kacheek proposed a toast to boogers, which had everyone confused for a moment. They drank anyway.

It was at the ceremony where Mr. Mogul gave everyone their holiday bonuses that proved the highlight of Smithers' evening, however. After he had finished giving out the little envelopes to all of the board members – the bonuses were particularly generous that year – Annie came up out of the crowd and handed Mr. Mogul a package wrapped up in red and green paper with a bright yellow ribbon. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the present as if he didn't quite know what to make of it. He removed the wrapping paper with the cautious deliberation of someone entirely unfamiliar with the process of unwrapping gifts, then opened the box inside and removed the blue and orange scarf that Annie had bought that day at the mall. He stared at it for what seemed like a long time.

"The winters get pretty cold around here," Annie explained with just a hint of pride in her voice.

"Yes, they do," replied the businessman.

Then he folded the scarf up and stuffed it into his suit-coat pocket. Smithers found it so touching that he almost burst into tears right then and there, never mind who might be watching.

Later that evening, after all the guests had gone home and the house staff had finished cleaning up, all the children gathered around him in front of the ballroom fireplace in sleeping bags and Smithers read to them from a book of fairy tales until, one by one, they fell asleep. Mr. Mogul sat at a table a short distance away, stroking Precious and watching silently. When all the children were dreaming, the two of them went back to the office.

"A very successful party, Sir," said Smithers. "Probably the best we've ever had."

Mogul shrugged indifferently and laid Precious down on her bed before going back to his desk. He plucked a candy from the jar on his desk and plopped it into his mouth, then removed the scarf from his pocket and examined it. Smithers smiled.

"Good night, Sir."

Mogul waved him away, absorbed in the simple gift a young orphan had given him. As Smithers was making for the door, Mr. Mogul suddenly squinted, leaning in close to the scarf. He hissed through his teeth.

"Mr. Smithers," he said. "This scarf was made by one of the major competitors of my textile factory."

Smithers quickly went back to the desk and looked at the tag Mogul was holding out. Sure enough, it was just as the businessman had said. Smithers chuckled nervously.

"Well, I'm sure she didn't know, Sir."

"Probably not," Mogul admitted.

"And really, it's the thought that counts, isn't it?"

Mogul considered this for a moment. "If you say so."


	8. Reflection

I keep telling myself that I'm not going to write fanfiction any more, so it's funny to me that I'm back here again. But, see, that's the thing, I can't really control the ideas that enter my head, nor do I really have all that much control of which ones stay there long enough to develop into full fledged stories, nor which stories will feel like they are worth writing.

When I first stumbled across the Neopets website, I thought to myself, "Wow, this is big." Then I thought, "Wow, this is complex." Finally, I thought, "Wow, there's all kinds of potential for new methods of storytelling here. I must talk about this in great length and detail and call it a review so people don't suspect I just like to talk to hear the sound of my own voice."

As a part of that review, I wrote a story to see what the process of submitting a story to the Neopian Times was like as well as to possibly give me something I could make points about in my review. I didn't actually reference the story in my review, except to mention that I wrote one, but as an experiment, I considered it a success in most regards. Still, one of the goals I had set out was to tell a story where all the characters were morally ambiguous and defied the labels of good guy and bad guy.

While I feel I certainly succeeded in making Sophie into an anti-heroin who was a protagonist more by accident than by choice, I still felt like Mogul came off as too overtly "bad-guy," primarily because you never see him do anything "good." Even when he's being generous and nice, he still comes off as feeling bad because he seems to be motivated solely by what he gets out of it. Nothing seems to suggest that he might have any goals beyond making money.

Furthermore, for time constraints I was forced to cut out his underling, Jonas Smithers, who was a character I had found hilarious for how out of place he was in his position as Mogul's underling. I really regretted that and decided that I was going to write a second story that I could make into a character study of Mr. Mogul and really explore the moral complexity of the corporate mind set.

It was apparently too much for Neopets to tolerate. I wrote a total of three different versions of this story and each was rejected for reasons that were increasingly less clear with each attempt. What you just finished reading is the second version, which still contains the confrontation with Buschimi, but lacks the ferocity and excessive violence that scene had in the original draft. They said it was this scene that they rejected it for, but when I cut out the scene in the third version (which required some major rewriting, let me tell you), they still rejected it, so I have no idea at this point what they it was they didn't like.

Maybe it was just me.

Meh!

Characters

Mr. Mogul: There is a quote from Talespin by the character Shere Khan: "I desire only money and power. Unpresentable employees provide me with neither." This was kind of the idea I originally had in mind for Mogul. He was supposed to be a person who didn't really care about the people who worked for him on any personal level, but wouldn't necessarily harm or abuse them because it would ultimately be bad for business. Basically, he's the kind of person who's a good employer, but isn't someone that you'd be inclined to have any sort of personal relationship with.

Of course, the first story was about him holding some of his employees hostage because they were going to sell some of his company secrets to his competitors and he wanted to make sure that didn't happen, so that characterization got a bit strained. While some of that is still there, Mogul has since evolved into a more amoral gentleman; concerned primarily with himself and his own desires, but aware of the problems of kicking the dog too hard.

While that makes him an excellent villain, what makes him an excellent character - in my mind, anyway - is that these don't so much arise out of simple greed, but more out of the way he was raised. His father was the kind of person who was always expecting too much from him and forced him to grow up too quickly, with the result that he never learned the real value of personal relationships with people. He tends to look at the people around him in terms of what they can do to further his goals because that's how he was always taught to look at them. This relationship with his father had other effects on him as well and its those effects that drive the plot of this story.

Mr. Smithers: Go ahead and say it; "like the guy on The Simpsons." Yes, that's where I took the name from. You have to admit, it's a very fitting name for this sort of character.

Smithers is basically built to be the opposite of Mr. Mogul. Where Mogul cares very little about people, Smithers is a real people person. Where Mogul believes that all people are inherently self-interested, Smithers thinks that everybody's good deep down and just need a chance to let it show. Where Mogul might do something to help the community because it makes him look good in the public eye, Smithers would do it because of the warm fuzzies it would make him feel.

How exactly did somebody like that get to be the CFO of the most ruthless corporation in the world? Fate has an ironic sense of humor, that's how. I don't really have much of a back story to explain how it really happened, but the basic idea is that Mogul likes to keep a few people near him who think differently from himself. To quote Ghost in the Shell: "A system in which all parts react the same way has a fatal flaw." Having people who think differently from himself gives Mogul a better chance of second guessing his competition, which might help him stay ahead.

At the same time as Mogul uses Smithers as an idea-man and all-purpose goto guy, Smithers seems to consider it his responsibility to help Mogul be the better person he's capable of being. He'll go to almost any length to get Mogul to do something nice for people in the hopes that his employer will learn that being a "good guy" has its own rewards. Does it work?

Maybe.

Annie: The Annie of this story is basically the antithesis of the Annie from the work I'm parodying. Where Annie from the play is always happy and singing expecting the best from people, Annie in this story is a cynical, slightly depressive survivalist who basically serves to highlight just how jaded today's society has become by kicking Smithers in the shins whenever he seems to be getting too happy.

The roll reversal also makes a statement about what we expect of people. An adult who sees the world to be a dark and hard place is what we expect, but if he's happy and bubbly, we call him naive. Conversely, if a child is happy and playful, we say that's how children are supposed to be, while a child who holds the kind of dark and pessimistic view we expect of adults makes us feel sad. There's something very telling about our culture in that maxim, but I'll leave it up to the audience to wonder what exactly it's supposed to be telling us.

Buschimi: A parody of Rooster, the bad guy from the play. As such, there really isn't much to Buschimi beyond "I'm a bad guy who abuses children for money." The play doesn't make any attempt to make Rooster human, so I took it the next step further and removed anything from Buschimi's part in the story that might suggest he serves any other purpose than being a needless bad guy to add conflict to a story that didn't actually fit the plot. Of course, by changing Annie from a happy-go-lucky girl to an absolute pessimist ends up justifying Buschimi as a character, since he now gives Annie a reason for why she looks at the world the way she does.

But really, he's not all that important as a character.

Plot and Presentation

The first story I wrote was an experiment with genre, but this was meant to be a focused character study and, as such, characters are the central force of the plot. Every event in this story was meant to develop the character of Alexander Mogul in some way rather than tell some kind of story you haven't heard before; hence, it kind of evolved into a parody. While I admit to really enjoying poking fun at the over-the-top sentimentality of Little Orphan Annie, I chose to parody that play because it served to highlight the core aspects of Mogul's character, as well as being very suited to presenting the strange relationship between Mr. Smithers and Mr. Mogul.

The biggest challenge of a character driven story is that plot sometimes becomes an addendum to the story, as it did in this case. There is really nothing about the plot of this story that my readers should find particularly unique or engaging. In fact, the plot is pretty generic, even by today's overly tolerant standards. To compensate for this, you have to make sure that everything centers on the characters and the characters have to be complex and interesting enough that the audience wants to learn more. While presentation is kind of the backbone of every good story, in a character driven story like this, presentation is so important that it's almost the only thing that matters.

The choice of making Smithers the POV character for this story was really the only one that made sense for that reason. His unrealistically optimistic outlook gives me a lot of room to leave Mr. Mogul's motives up for interpretation while implying that maybe, just maybe, there's something more to him than just making money. Smithers having some knowledge of Mr. Mogul's past gives him room to reveal a little information about Mogul's relationship with his father, which is implied to be the driving force behind his motives. His rose-colored glasses means that Smithers declares him to be a person who wants to care and doesn't know how, while many of Mogul's actions and comments seem to suggest otherwise. It serves perfectly to get across that Mogul's motives are, at their core, grounded in a bad relationship with his father, but just how much of an effect and exactly how bad that relationship was is left for the audience to puzzle over.

See, the key to building interest a character-driven piece like this is purely in how much you reveal to the audience. If you tell them everything flat out, then the audience doesn't have anything to engage with on account of knowing how the character will already act. Furthermore, leaving some stuff unclear gives the audience something to think about after they've finished, which not only makes the story much more memorable, but might also give them a reason to want to read it again. It's a careful ballance to keep, because if you tell the audience too much, they loose interest, but if you tell them too little, they get confused and exactly how much is too much, or too little varies depending on the story. It's something that you have to learn as a writer, through a combination of analysing good stories and trial/error. When you get good at it, it starts to become instinctive.

At this point, it's been such a while since I wrote the story, that I don't think I can really tell you everything that went into the making of it, so if this reflection seems like it's getting cut short, it's because it kind of is. About the only thing left that I can really draw attention to is in the "Shopping" chapter, where I break the rule of Checkov's Gun.

For those of you who don't peruse TV Tropes, Checkov's Gun is a rule where, if you introduce something and draw attention to it, it will somehow be important later in the plot. In this case, I'm talking about the metal case that Mogul picks up in the mall. I spent a lot of time on that scene considering how little it seems to matter to the moment. This emphasis builds up the audiences expectation of that case and I'm sure all of you who read it were wondering at the end what it was and why I bothered with it in the first place.

And you may just wonder forever, 'cause I broke the rule of Checkov's Gun. It was an experiment basically; I don't know how the audience will react to it, but it's my hope that the unsolved mystery of the metal case will add another layer to the ambiguity of Mogul's character. In a story where Mogul is seen doing good things (even if he is beating someone up at the time), I took a moment to remind everyone that he is, at his core, an amoral businessman and more than willing to make (apparently) dirty deals under the table. That nothing seems to come from it is suppose to leave people wondering how much is happening that they don't know.

Also, Mogul threatens someone by eating a piece of candy. That's hilarious in its absurdity.

And that's really all there is to say, I'm afraid. Of course, I don't know how many people actually read these little bits at the end, so who cares?

Sayonara, and happy writing,

Reynold James Dalton


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